After Death
by Morbidly Obscure
Summary: Months after the Red Death has ravaged England, the dead begin to rise. With time running thin, Ciel Phantomhive strives to finish his father's work and develop a cure. An enigmatic, scarlet-eyed stranger may hold the answers, but is he leading Ciel to salvation or destruction? AU. Ciel/Sebastian.
1. Chapter 1

**Kuroshitsuji belongs to Yana Toboso; _The Mask of the Red Death_ belongs to Edgar Allan Poe. I just smashed the two together in a weird, zombie-steampunk AU. Enjoy the insanity, and don't forget to review!**

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_SLAMSLAMSLAM_

The sound was like an urgent heart beat, reminding Ciel of his all-too-fragile mortality. He didn't mind though—in fact, he was _grateful_ for the incessant thud of fist-on-metal, because it drowned out the screams of his remaining loved ones. It was just Ciel and Sebastian in the underground lab, standing at either end of the small table like two men about to duel. That was almost an accurate description—except the only one of them facing up to death was Ciel.

"What are your odds, Mr. Phantomhive?" Sebastian asked. As always, his tone tight-roped the line between polite and mocking, and as always that serene smile stretched his mouth, even as blood streaked from the place where Ciel's ring had split his lip. In the lantern light, that blood glistened red-black like whiskey.

Ciel ignored the tone, the smile, the blood, and picked up the syringe. Only once the needle was sunk deep into Ciel's flesh did he allow himself to consider Sebastian's question.

**One Month Prior**

_It's winter, _Ciel realized with a start. The young man clenched the black mesh overcoat tighter around himself and wished he'd worn a proper jacket underneath. Three years hiding indoors almost all the time, three years of waking only at sunset, and three years of talking to the same, gradually reducing cluster of acquaintances had taken its toll on Ciel's concept of time and order. Now, from the chill slicing through his flimsy coat and dress clothes, he could deduce that it was mid-to-late November.

Ciel didn't have time to ponder this development, however, as a pair of half-rotted arms came clawing at him from a shadowed alcove. There was plenty of time to see the body behind those arms materialize, the gaping maw and cheekbones peeking from mottled skin. She (it) was close enough to be an immediate threat but far enough for a clean shot. Ciel took aim with the handgun he'd been carrying and pulled the trigger in a matter of milliseconds. The Infected fell to the ground, (completely) dead. The bullet pierced it's heart directly—Ciel had always been a good shot—and now it lay in the gutter, continuing its steady decay in peaceful silence. This one had a yellowed piece of gauze wrapped around its eyes, but garish red splotches marked the spots where her optical organs had once sat.

With a muttered swear, Ciel picked up his tread through the alley, much more quietly this time. Out of habit, he straightened his respirator, making sure that the filters on both sides of his mouth were working. Odds of catching The Red Death from something other than an Infected bite were rare these days, but Ciel was not taking any chances with the airborne disease. He was remained calm as ever, though; Ciel Phantomhive was not a nervous man.

Even with the potential dangers, this walk was familiar, almost comforting, just like the steady hiss of his respirator. _Humans really can adapt anything,_ Ciel thought sardonically, _after a time._ He was almost to the factory when he saw it: the Infected mob and the man they were about to rip limb from limb.

Ciel doubled back a step, glacial eyes widening. He had never seen so many Infected in one place, and after just one person. The first thought in Ciel's mind was to leave before he was noticed; this man was nothing to Ciel, and altruism was not in his nature. But there was something so strange, so _off _about the sight, that Ciel felt compelled to act. With a swing of his arm and a twitch of his finger, Ciel fired the first shot, then the second, then a third. They dropped like flies each time and Ciel licked his lips; yes, he was an excellent shot.

Soon it got tricky. About a third of the Infecteds turned and started shambling towards Ciel, closing the distance as Ciel reloaded. With mechanical proficiency, Ciel ejected the empty magazine and slotted a fresh one in. It took little more than three seconds, but Ciel had time to stare at the man across the way—the man with the raven hair and wicked red eyes, the man who was quickly, cleanly, and rather casually eviscerating Infecteds with a pair of short daggers.

There was little time for observation, though, as the creatures were taking advantage of Ciel's break in fire. He sent bullets into five rotting chests in short order, then shot four clumsy blasts at a pair that had crept too close for comfort. There was one more left, and Ciel took aim but cursed when the gun jammed. While he banged the pistol against the leather of his glovelette, Ciel guaged the distance of the Infected, the speed of its gait. Five seconds, no more, and it would be upon him.

_One, two,_

Ciel dropped the jammed pistol and reached for the other gun hooked to his belt. It had been fight or flight, and instinct had driven Ciel to fight; he hoped it was the right move, because he really didn't want to die for some fucking stranger in a dark alley when he was this close to perfecting his cure.

_Three,_

_**Click**_, Ciel cocked the new gun.

_Four,_

Exhale. Aim. If Ciel didn't hit the heart straight on this time, he was good as dead.

_Five,_

Fingers wrapped around Ciel's wrist, catching him by surprise. The hand was well decayed—Ciel could see it's yellowed phalenges—and the little flesh left felt soft and slimy against his own. He could still shoot; if he didn't hit the heart, it might be close enough to knock the creature away. But now it—the Infected was naked, but so rotted there was no way to specify it's gender—was gnashing violently at the air before Ciel's face, and it's teeth were streaked with blood, and oh God he could see bits of flesh stuck between the molars, and—

"Careful, there."

The Infected slumped, suddenly motionless, against Ciel's chest. Ciel gasped, inhaling fetid air, and backed up so that the corpse slunk to the ground. Now he could see the short dagger buried in it's back, and the thrower of said dagger making his way toward Ciel with long, graceful strides. The black-haired man smiled an uncanny smile as he knelt down to yank his dagger from the cadaver's back, eliciting a rank spurt of black blood.

"You didn't stand down once," he commented, scarlet-hued eyes burning into Ciel's, "there are very few brave men left in the world, you know. You're something of an endangered species."

"I'm not brave," Ciel said flatly; in his mind, he was calculating the likelihood of surviving that last Infected without this man's help. Possible, not probable.

"Could have fooled me. The name's Sebastian Michaelis, by the way."

"Ciel Phantomhive."

The two man stood like that, facing each other but looking around at the small army of Infected's littering the ground like flies in a web. Ciel had never seen such a thing, not since the early days of the disease when Infected mobs and city militias raged in the streets and cut each others' numbers by halves with every strike. There were no formal militias anymore, no police or soldiers, and Infecteds didn't swarm anymore because humans had become scarce and lived in small, hard-to-detect clusters.

Suddenly, a musical chuckle broke the silence. "It's always like this. They adore me. Like moths to flame or bees to honey."

Ciel blinked slowly. "Is it, really?" The shock wore off, and Ciel began stripping his overcoat, "Then I suppose you need this more than me."

Sebastian stared at the coat but made no move to take it. "And what is a heap of black mosquito netting meant to do for my...problem?"

"It's a new synthetic material. It masks your infrared bio-signature from Infecteds," Ciel said. Sebastian raised his eyebrows, prompting Ciel to reiterate, "It reduces your heat emission. Renders you invisible to them, so long as you don't make any noise."

"I see," Sebastian drawled, though he remained frustratingly immobile, "why doesn't everybody have one of these fancy little coats, then?"

"Because I invented them," Ciel lifted his chin, "and I do not hand them out freely. Count yourself very lucky."

Sebastian chuckled scornfully but reached out for the coat. Before he could take it, however, Ciel shot forward and yanked the man's glove off, feeling the pale skin beneath. The red-eyed man hissed in displeasure.

"You're Infected," Ciel snapped accusingly, jolting his hand away from Sebastian's searing hot flesh.

"Am I? Oh dear," Sebastian reached a hand up to his bare face, presumably checking for the fonts of blood that should have been eye sockets, "but I feel quite fine."

Ciel knew he was being made fun of, and this only made him angrier. "You're a Carrier."

"Ridiculous," Sebastian said, but he was truly smirking now, "if I'm a Carrier, than I must be a demon, and I assure you I'm very much human.

"What are you on about?" Ciel asked; the comment threw him off, but he kept his voice hard.

"The church," Sebastian beamed, "or what's left of it. They say that the Red Death is Satan's work, and that all carriers are demons."

Despite himself, Ciel barked out a short laugh before muttering, "_Hell is empty and all the devils are here._"

Sebastian seemed to perk up, "That's not scripture."

"No, it's Shakespeare."

"So you agree. With the church, that is."

"Not at all," Ciel shook his head. "Humans make up monsters to make themselves look better by comparison. In reality, we're the devils, and this is hell."

Sebastian had spent this entire encounter looking amused, but now he seemed intrigued to boot. "My, my, you really are a scientist aren't you?"

"I don't know what I am," Ciel said, lifting his pistol once again, "but I know what you are. And what you are has no right to be alive."

Sebastian backed up, but that unnerving smirk never left his face, "Careful, Mr. Scientist. Who knows what happens when you kill a Carrier."

"I'll take my chances," Ciel returned brusquely, but he didn't pull the trigger. Not yet.

"I've never been bitten, you know," Sebastian was explaining calmly, as though he and Ciel were having a polite conversation in some tea parlor, "I suppose I was born as such. And I've never infected anybody. Not even by mouth-to-mouth contact."

Ciel's mouth was covered by his respirator, but he couldn't help but think Sebastian was trying to stare past it, at his lips. "Is that the truth?"

"Indeed," Sebastian spread his fingers conclusively, "Are you still planning on shooting me."

"Only if you try anything. Put the coat on and start walking," Ciel jerked the gun back in the direction he came, "I want to be home by sunrise."

For the briefest of instants, Sebastian seemed surprised, then displeased, but soon enough his face settled back into that amused mask, that easy smirk. "Whatever you say, Mr. Phantomhive."

Ciel waited for Sebastian to pass him, then pressed his pistol into that feathery mass of black hair. He lead the Carrier back to his manor with the gun's muzzle, and all the while he couldn't get over the sense that Sebastian was only humoring him.


	2. Chapter 2

**This ended up longer than expected, but I guess that's not really a bad thing. For the record, I have no idea how many chapters this is going to end up being. I'm thinking maybe five. Five is a good number. Ahem. Anyway, thank you for the lovely reviews; I like knowing that people are enjoying the story. Please remember to review after this chapter as well!**

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**Before They Rose**

_Everything will be alright._

That was what Ciel had been told. By his mother, his father, the servants, everybody. And he believed it, because everything _was_ okay for Ciel. There were ghastly things going on in the cities, which was why Ciel wasn't allowed beyond the manor gates anymore, but at the here they were safe. The risk of infection was low for people like the Phantomhives—nobles in secluded country estates—and Ciel's father had made these funny little masks that he said made them even safer.

Father had given Lizzie's family masks too, as well as Aunt Ann, so they would be safer too. The little mask felt strange and could be inconvenient, but Ciel always wore his because he already had asthma and got colds easy and Mummy said that this sickness was much worse than any of that. Ciel thought it must be like pneumonia, which he'd had last winter after that snowball fight with Lizzie.

"Mummy, when can I see Lizzie again?" Ciel asked around a yawn.

"Very soon, darling," Rachel Phantomhive smiled at her son, "when you're father finds a cure, everything will be like it used to."

Ciel frowned. He didn't understand that things were different. He'd never seen a person stricken with the Red Death, convulsing on the ground while blood oozed through his skin and gushed from his eyes. He didn't know about the riots in the street, the chaos and desperation and burning buildings. He couldn't imagine men stabbing each other for pieces of bread—a common occurrence now that money was useless. In these days, a simple carriage ride spelled disaster, for there were thousands who would kill for any mode of transportation.

"Alright," Ciel said, unable to hide his disappointment, "but I hope it _is_ soon."

"Me too, but we both have to be patient," Rachel said gently, then added, "and we have to go to bed on time. It's getting late, pet."

"I know..." Ciel huffed, though he wasn't tired, "can I say goodnight to Daddy first?"

"I don't think that will be a problem," Rachel chuckled, "just have _him_ tuck you in."

"What if he's busy?" Ciel made a face; Daddy was always busy.

"Then you tell him it's _his_ bedtime to," Rachel said lightly, "Now go on."

"Okay!" Ciel giggled and took off down the hall while Rachel made her way from the parlor to the stairs, shaking her head in quiet affection.

Before everyone got talking about danger and sickness, Daddy had worked in an office on the second floor with a big desk and lots of books. Now he spent all his time in a weird new room underneath the kitchen. Ciel wasn't allowed in the room, but he'd seen it a few times, and he knew it looked nothing like the office. The new room was made of metal and all it had were a few tables—also metal—with all sorts of weird stuff on them, like glass tubes and bottles filled with different colored liquids. It was impossible to see the door to the metal room unless you knew where it was, and fortunately Ciel did. He rapped his knuckles against the tile, feeling the hollowness below.

"One minute," Vincent Phanomhive's muffled voice called, and Ciel stepped back.

The hidden trapdoor opened up, revealing Vincent in his lab coat and goggles. Ciel beamed. "Mummy says it's time for bed—for both of us."

"Does she now?" Vincent climbed the rest of the way up the ladder, "Well then—" The indulgent smile on Vincent's face disappeared when the screaming started. The man stopped, tensed, and listened to the distant-but-not-nearly-distant-enough noise.

"Daddy...what's that?" Ciel was listening too now, though he couldn't quite identify the sounds.

"Nothing," Vincent said quickly (too quickly) as he scooped Ciel up by the underarms. "Here," the scientist set his son on the cold metal rungs of the ladder, "I'm going to get your mother. Stay down there until I get back. Do not come out or open the door for anybody else, do you understand?"

Ciel was confused but he nodded nonetheless.

"Good," Vincent put on a reassuring smile, but his eyes were anxious, "I love you, Ciel."

"I love you too, Daddy," Ciel said, though he was nervous now. He didn't have time to say or ask anything else before the door closed, sealing him in.

With no other choice, Ciel descended. Vincent had dampened the lanterns before exiting, so Ciel had to feel his way to the bottom in complete blackness. Once on ground level, the boy found a corner and curled up, hoping his father would knock on the door soon. Down here, it was dark and quiet as a tomb. Typically, Ciel wasn't afraid of the dark, but now he felt more scared and lost than ever before.

Time passed. Nobody came. There were noises, but the distance and soundproofing covered up most of them. The only thing Ciel heard clearly were the footsteps above, in kitchen. There were many of them, heavy and frantic, but none of them came near the door. Soon enough, they were gone, and Ciel was alone. He started crying because at that moment, he realized Mummy and Daddy were never going to come for him.

_Tok, tok, tok,_

Rapping on the door. Ciel remembered his father's words and said nothing.

"Young Master? Are you down there?"

"M-Mr. Tanaka?" Ciel uncurled slightly when he heard the familiar voice.

"You may come out now," came the soft reply, "it is safe."

Wobbly and uncertain, Ciel made his way to the ladder and climbed back up. He pushed the door open until he could see Tanaka's kind, wrinkled face peering down at him. Hastily, Ciel scrambled the rest of the way up and into the butler's arms. Tanaka said nothing as Ciel buried his face in the old man's shoulder and cried. Soon, Tanaka's coat was wet with tears and Ciel's hand was wet with blood from the knife wound in Tanaka's side.

Ciel knew then that everything wasn't going to be alright, and maybe it never was in the first place.

**OoO**

"Vincent? Vincent, is that you?" A striking, sly-faced woman in a red taffeta evening gown opened the door and squinted at the men on the stoop as though they were very far away.

"No, Red. It's just me, Ciel," Ciel said, stepping through the doorway with a slight grimace on his face. Even from the lobby, he could here clearly the music and merriment oozing from the ballroom like toxic vapors. This was what had become of the manor and the hundred-or-so occupants Ciel had amassed within it: a never-ending party designed purely to drown out reality and mock death from afar.

"Well, of course it is," the woman laughed, and some of the wine in the very large glass she was holding sloshed to the floor, "isn't that what I said?"

"You called me Vincent again," Ciel replied softly and looked away.

"Did I?" the woman's face paled a bit, contrasting further with her crimson hair and dress, and she giggled nervously, "Slip of the tongue. It's just that sometimes, you look so much like him..."

Ciel acted as though he hadn't heard and muttered, "I didn't make it to the factory tonight. I'll have to try again tomorrow."

Madam Red wasn't listening; she was far too busy ogling every inch of Sebastian's body from behind the brim of her glass. "And who, might I ask, is this?"

"Sebastian Michaelis," Sebastian chimed before Ciel could say or do anything about it, "Pleasure to meet you." When Madam Red extended her hand, Sebastian kissed it, making her trill with laughter and Ciel glower murderously. Sebastian slanted a laughing glance at Ciel before drawling, "And you are?"

"Angelina Durless," Ciel cut in sharply. He was disgusted by the whole display and wanted it to be over as soon as possible, "but we call her Madam Red. She's my aunt." Equally brusque, Ciel turned back to Red and said, "Sebastian's a new guest, but he is here to help me in the lab. No one will be seeing very much of him." He said the last part pointedly, aiming it at both his aunt and the Carrier with equal intensity.

"Well then," Madam Red arched a brow, "I'll be rejoining the party. Sebastian, do make yourself at home."

"I'll do my best," Sebastian called back gaily, as though he hadn't just been hauled up here by gunpoint.

"Oh and Ciel," The woman said over her shoulder, "let your wife know you're alive before locking yourself up in the cellar."

Ciel grunted something affirmative before striding off for the stairs, motioning for Sebastian to follow. It was silence until Sebastian proclaimed, "Your aunt is lovely."

"Lovely and perpetually drunk," Ciel sighed as they rose, "and slowly losing her mind like everybody else in this house."

"Not very surprising, given the circumstances," Sebastian put in lightly.

"She's brilliant, you know," Ciel said almost wistfully, "She used to be a surgeon."

"I'm sure that comes in handy," Sebastian said conversationally, but Ciel was done talking for the time being.

"This is will be your room," Ciel said two floors and one candle-lit hallway later. Actually, it was just a large, empty closet space.

"Hm. A bit small," Sebastian quipped, though that same disarming grin remained fixed on his face like a mask. If he was irritated, Ciel had no way of telling.

"The guest rooms are on the middle floor," Ciel explained, "and I won't have you down there."

"Now, why ever is that?" Sebastian raised a brow. He knew the answer already, but he wanted to hear Ciel say it.

"You're dangerous. I don't want you anywhere near my other guests, and I want to be able to know where you are at all times," Ciel answered bluntly, "that's my room right across the way."

"I suppose I won't be joining the ball, then?" Sebastian asked as Ciel turned away and stalked off down the hall. When it was clear there'd be no answer, he shrugged. "Pity. I'm wonderful at parties."

**OoO**

When Ciel returned to Sebastian's so-called-room just ten minutes later with a blanket, pillow, chamber pot, and his own personal skeleton key, the Earl dared to peek through the keyhole before entering. Sebastian was in the room (thankfully) and pacing about the small space in long, graceful strides that spoke to some restrained violence. He looked like a jungle cat that could strike at any moment. Ciel shook that particular image from his mind and opened the door without bothering to knock.

"Here," Ciel said, tossing all but the key onto the floor, "I figured these were necessities."

"How kind," Sebastian said mockingly "what's the key for?"

"Locking you in," Ciel said plainly. He didn't see the point in pretending that he gave a damn about Sebastian's comfort or freedom.

"Don't trust me?" Sebastian smirked viciously.

"I don't trust anybody," Ciel very nearly smirked back but instead kept his face flat as usual, "least of all you."

"I can tell you're going to be a lot of fun, Mr. Phantomhive," Sebastian smiled, and Ciel couldn't for the life of him tell whether the Carrier was being sarcastic or serious.

In the end, Ciel just turned away once again, locking the door behind him just like he said he would. The Earl didn't allow himself to think about just how big a risk he was taking, telling himself that it was worth it. Despite his desire to head straight for the lab, Ciel took Madam Red's advice and went to the master bedroom across the hall where Elizabeth Midford sat straight-backed at her vanity mirror, brushing out her curly gold hair in careful, measured strokes. Between that shining, Rapunzel-esque hair and her diaphanous white nightgown, Lizzie resembled in every way an angel, trapped on this Earth by some cruel divine error. Actually, she always resembled an angel to Ciel, whether she was floating through the day with all her usual bright sweetness, or whether she was wielding her twin swords like a warrior seraph.

"Ciel!" Elizabeth sprung from her seat to embrace her husband, "I'm so glad you're back!"

"I wasn't gone any longer than usual, Lizzie," Ciel said, pushing her back as subtly as he could manage.

"I know," she said, green eyes glittering with some emotion Ciel couldn't place, "but I hate that you go at all. I hate that you go alone and won't take anyone with you."

Ciel sighed; he knew how badly this hurt Elizabeth. She feared for him when he went out for provisions—which was more than can be said for any of his other dear friends downstairs. If any of them noticed his weekly outings at all, it was only to hope that he returned with enough alcohol. Certainly none of them would volunteer to go with him, but that didn't matter because Lizzie would in a heartbeat. Lizzie would stand by his side, and with her swords she could assure him a safe return every single time. But he didn't let her, and not out of any altruistic urge to protect her. Ciel couldn't explain it to Lizzie, but he needed the lonely provision runs—they were an escape from the crowded, noisy manner which seemed to become more and more fermented each day with spilt liquor and sickly-sweet delusions. Even more, he felt it important walk the streets and steep himself in the rot and ruin that now defined the outside world. It reminded him of his purpose, of why he was fighting so hard for a cure rather than just putting a damned bullet through his brain and being done with it all. Ciel's goal of finishing his father's work was the only thing left that inspired him to continue living, and he couldn't let himself be distracted from it.

"But I'm fine Lizzie," he insisted, reaching up a hand to stroke his wife's cheek. Her skin was paler than it used to be, but Ciel didn't know if that was from lack of sunlight or constant anxiety, "I'm always fine."

"Yes," She said, smiling now, "so will you please come to bed with me? It's gotten late."

"I can't now," Ciel said, and he drew away, "there are preparations I need to make in the lab for tomorrow..." he trailed off remembering, "Oh, and if you see a strange man in the house with black hair and red eyes, you shouldn't be worried, but you shouldn't go near him either."

"Shouldn't be worried?" Lizzie's smile had disappeared, "Ciel I haven't a clue what you're talking about but I'm already worried."

"Well don't be."

The blonde laughed sharply. "Ciel, I worry all the time. I worry when you go out, I worry when you spend all night and day in your lab and you won't let me in. I worry when you avoid everybody and won't say a word. You haven't given me a single reason _not_ to be worried."

"Please, Lizzie this is important!" Ciel said, a little too harshly because he could see tears well up in his wife's eyes. When he spoke again, he made his voice as gentle as possible, "You just have to give me a little bit more time. I'm so close."

"I just care about you, Ciel" she murmured, calming a bit, "and sometimes you scare me a little, the way you act."

"Once I find a cure, everything will be better," he said insistently, "and I'll spend all my time with you, and you'll never need to worry about me because everything will be safe again."

Lizzie wanted to believe him so desperately that she did, despite every ounce of her logic saying that she shouldn't. "Do you promise?"

"I promise," Ciel said, and he took her in his arms and held her because she needed him to. "Everything will be alright."


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